SHADES  OF  THE  HAMLET, 


"*» 


AND 


OTHER  POEMS. 


BY  REV.  A.  GRAY,  A.M. 


WOBURN,  MASS. 
FOWLE  &  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS, 

1852. 


#•* 


A 


r 


CONTENTS. 


Shades  of  the  Hamlet, 

The  Holy  Communion, 

The  Storm, 

The  Temple, 

The  Return, 

The  Hour  of  Dread, 

Jacob's  Visior, 

The  Dying  Penitent,      . 

Bear  thy  Cross, 

Morning  Hymn, 

Evening  Hymn, 

Jerusalem, 

New  Year, 

Good  Friday, 

Easter  Hymn, 

The  Penitent  Returning, 

Memory's  Office  to  the  Sinful, 

The  Pilgrim, 

Reposing  on  God,     . 

llie  Last  Ray, 

The  Vow,      . 

The  Widow  and  the  Fatherless, 

The  Poor, 

The  Dying  Child, 

The  Living  and  the  Dying, 

Parting  with  the  Youngest, 

Bishop  Heber, 

Thoughts  at  Night, 

The  Prince's  Lodge, 

The  Reign  of  Poetry,     . 

The  Departed, 

In  Remembrance  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Cochrane, 


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SHADES  OF  THE  HAMLET. 


THE     MEETING. 


Where,  as  the  guardian  of  tlie  scene  around, 

The  village  Church  o'ertops  the  winding  hill, 

Two  friends  descend,  in  earnest  converse  joined. 

The  setting  sun  had  on  the  faded  vane 

Cast  its  last  beams,  '*  like  hope  departing  from 

A  fallen  state,"  the  oldest  said,  '•  Or  like 

The  smile  that  lights,  one  instant  lights,  then  leaves 

The  dying  face,"  the  youngest  quick  replied. 

The  first  had  travelled,  —  seen  the  world,  its  courts, 

Its  customs,  foreign  states  and  cities,  seas 

And  isles,  and  people  of  all  colors,  climes  ; 

The  other,  poor  —  the  teacher  of  the  poor  — 

Had  gleaned  his  knowledge  from  the  cottage  hearth, 

Yet  much  had  seen,  and  more  had  mus'd  of  man. 

And  after  years  of  absence  they  had  met ; 

By  many  ties  united,  on  they  went 

'Till  twilight,  falling  on  the  vale  below, 

Ended  the  summer  day.     The  glimmering  light 

Reveal'd  an  obscure  house,  alone  and  bare, 

Without  one  sheltering  tree.     An  iron  band 

Fast  lock'd  the  outward  door,  unsightly  boards, 


SHADES    OF   THE   HAM  LET. 

Excluding  light  and  air,  the  windows  closed  ," 

No  living  thing  was  there.     "  Now,  what  is  this. 

Dear  Walter,  say,  here  desolation  reigns  ; 

Unlike  the  busy  cottages  wc  pass'd, 

The  gloom  of  death  seems  gathering  round  this  cot 

Its  silence  and  its  blight."     *'  And  well  it  may, 

For  here  I  witness'd,  George,  its  fatal  end. 

From  age  to  age  a  godless  family  liv'd 

On  this  bleak  spot.     Three  only  now  remained, 

Two  brothers  and  a  sister.     He  who  own'd 

This  mansion  and  these  fields  was  old  and  crazed,. 

The  snows  of  winter  and  the  summer's  sun 

Unnoticed  pass'd,  and  still  I  saw  this  man^ 

With  great  unwieldy  bulk  and  giant  arm. 

Driving  the  axe,  to  cleave  the  stubborn  wood. 

A  rope  of  straw  around  each  ankle  bound, 

Capacious  garments  hung  upon  his  limbs, 

His  busy  lips  for  ever  muttering  mov'd. 

And  his  fix'd  eye,  like  marble,  sought  the  earth. 

It  happened  once  that  a  young  girl  had  died 

Within  these  walls,  —  and  beautiful  in  death 

Her  fair  form  lay,  —  that  day  the  axe  was  still. 

Some  sudden  gleam  of  light,  some  broken  thread 

Of  former  thought  press'd  on  the  brain.     He  took 

A  prayr-book  to  the  unconscious  corpse,  and  gaz'd 

With  earnest,  anxious  eye,  and  murmuring,  read, 

Or  seem'd  to  read,  the  prayors,  —  then  rushing  out, 

Look'd  wildly  round  as  if  in  eager  search 

Of  somethin<T  missing,  — something  never  found. 

Faster  and  fiercer  fell  the  cleavinjj  steel. 

Faster  and  fiercer  moved  the  livid  lips, 


SHADES  OF   TU£   HAMLET. 

"^Till  one  cold  winter  day,  and  all  was  still, 
Christinas  had  come,  and  he  was  in  his  grave. 

You  see  those  distant  hills,  where  dwarf-like  spruce 
And  elder  bushes  meet,  those  lonely  fields, 
Through  which  the  brooklet  murmurs  as  it  flows, 
And  many  a  rood  of  wooded  land  besides,  — 
His  burly  brother  claimed  them  for  his  own  ; 
No  record  of  the  dead  proclaimed  his  will. 
While  nearer  heirs  were  found  —  but  disallow'd  — 
The  laws  decision  with  the  laws  delay, 
The  disappointed  heirs,  the  brother  blest 
With  such  a  blessing  as  such  wealth  bestows. 
It  matters  not  to  tell.     Success  was  his. 
And  now  elate,  inebriate  with  joy, 
"  His  heart  was  merry,"  and  he  thus  began  — 
"  Now  may  we  sleep,  my  sister,  now  enjoy 
This  hard-earned  conquest,  and  this  verdant  land 
To  till,  improve,  and  gather  in  its  crops 
For  many  years  to  come,  our  mutual  aim." 
Thus  he,  the  summit  of  his  hopes  attained. 
Decreed  the  future,  in  his  folly  plann'd. 
And  quite  forgot  his  Ood.     While  He  who  sits 
O'er  all,  from  the  beginning,  o'erwhelm'd 
His  projects,  on  the  quick-sands  built. 

The  autumn  leaves  were  in  the  forest  strewn, 
The  trembling  bird  had  to  their  coverts  gone, 
The  frequent  rains  bad  filled  the  lakes  and  pools, 
The  Indian  Seer,  in  experience,  learned, 
Foretold  a  winter  long,  and  hard  to  bear. 


8  SHADES   OF   TUK   UAMLET. 

It  co^js,  —  the  drifting  snow,  with  mighty  mounds 

In  eddies  whirl'd,  encircles  this  bleak  house. 

Bitter  and^biting  is  the  piercing  cold, 

Wild  wail  the  winds  through  every  cranny  here  ; 

And^yet  a  sound  above  them  all  is  heard. 

The  strong  man  wrestling  in  his  agony. 

The  flesh  was  falling  from  the  naked  bone, 

This  world  receding  from  the  outstretch'd  hand. 

Which  in  its  impotence  was  rais'd  to  heaven, 

As  if  imploring  pity  from  the  skies. 

For  ever  sacred  be  the  dying  bed 
To  "  him  who  ministers  in  holy  things.'* 
Yet  let  us  not  then  first  for  mercy  call ; 
The  leaves  of  penitence  may  fast  appear  — 
As  fast  as  ebb  the  last  few  sands  of  life  — 
But  where  is  found  the  fruit  ?     "  The  Prodigal  T 
0,  would,  like  him,  I  to  my  father's  house 
Could  now  return."     Such  were  his  dying  thoughts  ; 
The  live  long  day  is  heard  his  earnest  pray'r, 
The  earnest  prayer  is  heard  the  live  long  night ; 
But  while  his  spirit  saddens  o'er  the  past, 
Or  breathes  itself  in  ever  suppliant  strains. 
His  sister  dies,  without  a  warning  given  ; 
This  hour  in  health  —  the  next  within  her  shroud; 
The  snow  removed  to  find  her  humble  tomb 
Was  not  replaced  ere  slept  her  brother  too. 
And  he  who  labor'd  on  theii  little  glebe, 
Strong  in  the  youthful  buoyancy  of  life, 
One  of  the  hardiest  of  a  hardy  race, 
Lay  prostrate  by  a  fall,  so  seeming  slight. 


SHADES    OF    THE    HAMLET.  b 

That  childhootrs  {?elf  innocuous  might  endure. 
Thus  sister,  brother,  servant  —  all  were  gone. 
Then  fell  the  shadow  on  this  gloomy  place, 
Alone,  neglected,  silent  and  deeay'd. 

THE    FIRE. 

"  Now  lay  that  volume  on  the  mantel-shelf. 
For  health  and  pleasure  both  commend  a  walk ; 
The  passing  shower  has  laid  the  unquiet  dust, 
And  hung  on  every  tree  bright  silver  drops, 
And  earlier,  George,  you  might  have  seen  with  me, 
Heavens  bow  extending  through  the  troubled  sky 
Its  arch  of  beauty  o'er  a  sinful  world." 

"  Sinful,  indeed.    Through  Russia's  blood-stained  snows, 
This  book  records  Napoleon's  grim  retreat. 
I  shudder  as  I  read,  and  gladly  go 
To  look  on  nature  undefiled  by  man — 
Man,  the  destroyer,  and  the  foe  of  man. 
Even  now,  that  author's  strange  descriptive  power, 
Peoples  the  woods  with  phantoms  of  the  brain ; 
These  sapless  trees,  of  bark  and  branches  bare, 
Standing  like  sentinels  beyond  the  lake, 
May  not  inaptly  represent  the  band 
Of  skeletons  congeaPd  on  Dnieper's  banks.'* 

"  Far  other  scenes,  and  sadder  thoughts  they  bring 
To  haunt  my  memory,  dwelling  on  the  past, 
When  miles  and  miles  my  solitary  way 
Through  blighted  woods  I  melancholy  took. 
And  vainly  sought  and  sigh'd  for  something  green. 
There  those  I  lov'd  have  suffered  —  some  are  dead  ; 
And  that  sweet  silvery  voice  that  told  the  tale 

1* 


10  SHADES    OF   TUE    UaMLET. 

Of  what  she  witness'd,  when  these  furests  fell. 

And  those  bright  beaming  eyes,  that  pity  fiU'd 

While  telling,  gladden  me  no  more.     "  You  see/* 

She  said,  *'  those  scath'd  and  dismal  wastes, 

Once  green  as  spring  time  in  the  morning's  prime, 

They  flourished,  and  are  gone,  I  cannot  say 

Whether  to  punish  or  amend  this  land 

The  Almighty  arm  was  rais'd.     It  fell,  and  we 

Were  desolate,  a  famish 'd  people,  poor. 

And  much  distressed.     It  seems  but  yesterday. 

So  vividly  remembrance  paints  the  scene. 

It  was  an  autumn  evening.     Sultry  heat 
Had  been  throughout  the  day.     The  river  lay 
Still  as  the  heavens  when  not  a  cloud  is  seen  ; 
The  woodman's  float  was  safely  moor'd  ;  secure 
The  pilot  boats  had  drop'd  their  loosen 'd  sail ; 
The  ships  were  lading  with  their  wooden  freight ; 
The  Indian,  in  his  indolence  made  free, 
Swiftly  impeird  his  slight  but  safe  canoe. 
The  shore  was  lin'd  by  towns  of  various  size, 
Some  straggling,  some  compact,  but  all  well  fill'd  ', 
And  public  buildings,  rural  cottages. 
And,  rarer  sight,  a  villa  raised  by  wealth. 
Yet  I  could  hear  my  })reath  so  still  all  lay ; 
The  sailor's  song,  the  pilot's  laugh,  the  busy  hum 
Of  multitudes  was  hush'd.     A  languor  deep, 
Oppressive,  felt  by  all,  came  creeping  on 
Our  senses  and  our  spirits,  till  ere  night 
Nature  seeni'd  tired,  weary  for  repose. 
My  eyes  were  fasten'd  on  a  wide-spread  cloud, 


BHADPS   OF    THE   HAMLET.  11 

That  hung  portending  on  the  distant  wood. 
Just  then,  a  vivid  ball  of  lightning  fell,  — 
The  wind  swept  past  me,  wailing  as  it  went, 
The  river,  rushing  with  a  hollow  sound, 
Dispell'd  the  awful  stillness.     Well  I  knew 
Our  fate  was  seal'd.     Encircled  round  by  fire, 
Escape  seem'd  hopeless,  all  we  then  could  do 
Was  trust  in  God,  and  calmly  wait  for  death. 
Nearer  and  nearer  came  the  wasting  flame, 
Arm'd  by  Omnipotence  to  work  its  way. 
Flash  after  flash,  the  rapid  lightnings  mix 
With  earthly  fire.     The  constant  thunders  roar  — 
The  hurricane,  with  winds  from  every  point. 
Lend,  all  their  aid.     The  waters  rise  and  fall 
Like  03ean  in  his  rage.     The  scorching  heat 
Increases  ;  sounds  are  heard  unlike  the  noise 
Of  earth,  drowning  the  shrieks  of  dying  men ; 
The  low,  wild  wail  of  feeble  woman's  fear, 
Startles  the  child  reposing  on  her  breast ; 
The  lurid  light  is  gleaming,  far  and  wide. 
On  thousands,  hopeless,  homeless  fugitives. 
Whose  faces,  white  with  dread,  too  truly  told 
They  seek,  but  know  not  where  to  fly.     Instinct 
Has  driven  the  wild  beast  from  his  lair.     Instinct 
Has  rous'd  the  terror  of  the  tame.     They  look 
To  man,  and  man  looks  up  to  God.     I  see 
The  scene,  I  hear  their  piteous  moans ;  again 
I  see  and  hear,  as  when  a  trembling  girl 
That  night  —  preserved,  and  thankful  we  were  safe — 
I  wept  and  pray'd,  or  hastened  to  behold, 
As  some  new  evil,  fresh  calamity 


12  SHADES   OF    THE   HAMLET. 

Call'd  forth  the  frequent  shout.     I  watch'd  the  spires 
Where  often  I  had  worshipped.     There  they  stood, 
The  blaze  swept  by  them,  yet  they  did  not  fall. 
God's  temple  stood,  —  at  this  my  soul  rejoic'd. 
Hundreds  of  evil  men  were  all  around, 
And  not  one  curse  was  heard.     Overcome  by  fear, 
The  wicked  thought  their  time  for  judgment  come, 
And  rais'd  their  eyes  and  faltering  voice  to  heaven. 

No  one  may  know  how  many  were  the  deeds 
Of  boldness,  utter  fright,  dispair,  or  wild 
Insanity  that  mark'd  that  night.     I  had 
A  friend,  a  youthful,  playful  girl ;  she  stood 
That  evening,  ere  the  danger  came,  waiting 
A  few  invited,  cheerful  guests.     The  hour 
Had  come ;  but  when,  enveloped  in  a  sheet 
Of  flame,  her  homestead  lay,  her  festal  wreath 
Falls  to  the  ground,  and  pale  as  death,  she  stares— 
Her  white  lips  open,  —  mute,  entranced  with  dread, 
Her  eye  dilates.     And  that  expression  still 
Stamps  on  her  face  the  suiFerings  then  endured. 

A  little  blind  girl,  with  her  brother  stood 
That  night  beside  a  cabin  built  of  boards  ; 
A  world  of  sadness  on  his  fair  young  brow, 
And  long  he  gaz'd  upon  his  helpless  charge, 
And  cried,  "  We  perish,  see,  the  fire,  the  fire  !  '* 
•'  I  cannot  see,  as  well  my  brother  knows, 
But  God  will  not  forsake  his  little  ones 
Who  trust  in  him.     My  dying  mother  told 
Me  this ;  and  now  our  father  is  away, 


SHADES   OF    THE   HAMLJf.  13 

We  have  no  friend  but  God."     *'  Then  hasten,  love. 
For  danger,  fear,  and  death,  are  all  around." 
Then  hand  in  hand  they  to  the  river  went, 
And  launched  their  tiny  raft  upon  the  stream. 
A  transient  gleam  of  pleasure  lit  each  face, 
As  it  was  seen,  that  when  the  morning  dawned, 
These  orphan  children,  thus  expos'd  all  night, 
And  cheered  by  confidence  in  God  alone, 
Close  in  each  others  arms  were  still  alive. 

See  yonder  cot,  on  that  declivity 
Lately  erected,  and  at  little  cost. 
Its  owner  is  an  aged  man.     Cheerful  he  was, 
A  father  well  advanced  in  healthful  years ; 
And  where  that  cottage  stands  his  house  was  buili 
In  better  days.     Ten  children,  and  his  wife, 
With  early,  thrifty  hours,  had  sought  their  bed. 
He  was  returning,  hoping  in  himself, 
Though  unexpected  after  absence,  yet 
"  They  might  be  up."     But  soon,  experienced  in 
These  woodland  scenes,  he  hastens  on  his  way 
To  shun  the  coming  fire.     He  turns ;  behind 
He  sees  its  rapid  course.     Again  he  turns ; 
Before,  it  has  outstripped  his  utmost  speed. 
There  is  his  home,  —  one  efibrt  more,  and  he 
Will  join  them  all.     Hemm'd  in  by  fire  he  sees 
The  bdrning  house.     His  senses  reel ;  and  when 
Bestored,  he  looks  —  his  long  lov'd  home  is  gone, 

Apart  from  all,  secluded,  peaceful  pure, 
A  happy  family  dwelt.     W^hatever  cares 


14  SHADES    OF   THE   HAMLET, 

DisturJ'd  the  father's  breast,  a  beaming  smile 

Still  greeted  those  he  lov'd.     The  mother,  too, 

Had  arichor'd  all  in  heaven.     The  legacy 

A  dying  Saviour  gave  was  her  reward. 

Five  blooming  daughters  round  their  cheerful  board 

Shar'd  in  their  parents'  love  ;  sweet  flowers  and  trees^ 

And  odorous  plants,  adorn 'd  their  sylvan  bower, 

Fragrant  and  fair.     When  desolation  came  — 

As  come  it  did  —  the  mother's  eye  was  calm  ; 

She  saw  the  wreck ;  one  look,  one  pitying  glance 

Upon  her  mournful  girls  she  sadly  cast. 

And  said,  "  His  will  be  done.     He  spares  our  lives, 

My  gentle  children,  grieve  not  at  our  loss  ; 

Our  home  is  safe,  though  every  star  stiould  fall,  — 

Our  home  is  safe  above  the  skies."     They  liv'd 

By  faith,  and  bright' ning  hope  was  shedding  on 

Their  path  its  heavenly  hues  ;  and  holy  love. 

Like  dew,  descended  and  refresh'd  their  souls." 

This  was  her  story.     I  remember,  George, 
When  first  the  tidings  of  this  dire  event 
The  distant  city  reach'd.     Blood-red  the  sun 
W^ith  sickly  glare  scarce  pierc'd  the  pendant  pall 
Of  blackness  hovering  round.     Light  cinder 'd  leaves 
Were  flying  through  the  air.     Then  came  the  news, 
The  stunning  news  —  three  towns  in  ashes  kid ; 
Hundreds  of  miles  of  forest  trees  destroy'd. 
And  human  beings  smouldering  as  they  fell. 
It  is  a  tale  forgotten  now ;  but  I 
Must  die  and  moulder  in  the  silent  grave 
Ere  I  forget  that  devastated  land. 


SHADES   OF   THE   HAMLET.  15 


THE   BROTIIErvS. 


"  Italian  skies  have  been  the  poet's  theme, 
And  some,  with  quite  disinterested  pains, 
Praise  what  they  never  saw.     Yet  not  at  Rome, 
Nor  where  the  Bay  of  Naples  lies  serene. 
Have  I  beheld  the  sunset  leave  so  bright 
A  train  as  this.     This  colors  cannot  paint. 
Nor  man  describe.     For  all  the  radiant  things 
Of  earth,  its  gold  and  precious  stones,  are  dim, 
Faint  emblems  of  that  gorgeous  heaven.     Its  tints, 
Clear,  bright,  combining,  blended  into  one. 
Without  the  aid  of  fancy,  deck  the  clouds 
As  palaces  of  light.     And  now  they  shine 
Upon  these  two  white  twin -like  cottages, 
Which,  perch'd  upon  the  green  declivity 
Beyond  that  rough-hewn  bridge,  resemble  most 
The  peace  substantial  of  the  peasant's  lot. 
Compared  with  all  the  glitter,  vague  and  vain, 
Of  soaring  greatness,  distant  and  admir'd. 
But  empty,  borrow'd,  false.     Tell  me,  my  friend. 
For  you  can  tell,  does  not  true  happiness  — 
At  least  such  happiness  as  man  may  claim  — 
Beside  in  these  low  homes  ?  "     "  Where  man  abides. 
Dear  George,  abide  both  care  and  pain.     Where'er  his  home 
Some  evil  passions  dwell.     Once  peace  was  here  ; 
Two  brothers  liv'd  and  lov'd,  and  side  by  side 
They  placed  these  lowly  cots.     When  life  was  young, 
Bobert  and  Michael  toil'd  in  Erin's  Isle, 
United  by  the  bond  of  brotherhood. 
And  by  affection  more.     They  married  there ; 


16  SHADES   OF    THE   HAMLET. 

Like  olive  branches  spread,  their  children  grew, 

And  as  one  family  they  dwelt.     Then  came 

They  here,  industrious  emigrants,  and 

As  yeomen  labor'd  for  a  yeoman's  wealth. 

Robert  was  grave,  and  silent,  and  rescrv'd, 

While  Michael,  volatile  and  full  of  glee. 

Weighed  not  his  words,  and  never  mask'd  his  thoughts, 

Was  voluble  and  gay.     Thus  different 

In  temper,  still  alike  they  were  in  close 

Cemented  amity.     One  summer's  day, 

When  everything  was  green,  and  the  sweet  hay 

Was  scenting  all  the  air  around  their  fields, 

And  none  were  absent,  the  brothers  stood 

Rejoicing,  pleased  and  happy.     Then  there  came 

One  of  those  sudden,  unexpected  blows 

Which  fall  on  man,  when  man  is  least  prepared, 

And  prostrate  as  they  fall.     A  cry  is  heard  — 

And  Robert's  wife  is  dead.     I  could  not  say  — 

When  to  the  village  church-yard  slowly  came 

The  mournful  train — which  seem'd  to  grieve 

The  most  of  either  family.     But  brief 

Was  rJl  their  sorrow,  brief  and  shortly  gone. 

A  twelvemonth  pass'd,  —  and  there  was  feasting  high, 

And  revelry,  within  these  cots.     A  bride  had  come 

To  fill  the  vacant  seat  and  guide  the  home 

Of  her  so  long  belov'd.     We  mark'd  the  pair ; 

Ill-match'd  they  surely  seemed.     Something  there  was 

Of  stern  austerity  in  that  sharp  face. 

That  augur'd  little  good.     The  husband,  too. 

Soon  chang'd,  —  more  neat  appear'd,  and  yet  more  grave 

The  lines  upon  his  brow  grew  deeper ;  care 


SHADES   OF   THE    II  AM  LET.  17 

Seem'd  sinking  in  the  inward  man.     He  smil'd 
More  seldom,  —  s-till  more  seldom  spoke  ; 
And  what  most  ;,tningely  moved  my  wonder  then, 
The  cheerful  Michael  wore  a  deepning  frown, 
Bent  on  the  ground  his  eyes,  impatient  grew, 
And  sadder  every  day.     Two  men,  'tis  said, 
Once  left  to  watch  a  distant  light,  where  waves 
And  winds,  commingling,  kept  remote 
All  others  of  their  kind,  for  six  long  months, 
Were  found  by  the  first  visitor  apart, 
Estrang'd  and  separate,  far  as  the  space 
Of  their  lone  tower  admitted.     They  had  been 
Thus  sever'd  all  their  exile  through.     Thus  far'd 
It  now  with  those  two  brethren  in  the  woods  ; 
They  spoke  not,  —  pass'd  each  other  by  as  if 
No  link  had  bound  them.     Michael  was  griev'd  — 
The  bitter  tears  of  manhood  shed.     *'  'Tis  hard 
That  evil  tongues  should  come  between  our  love ; 
We  ve  play'd  as  children  on  the  same  green  sod  — 
As  men,  have  toil'd  through  many  a  w^eary  day  — 
Upon  the  ocean  watch'd  the  wished  for  land,  — 
And  when  our  vessel  foundered  on  the  shore, 
I  last  remained,  to  save  the  youngest  child, 
And  placed  him  safe  within  his  father's  arms. 
I  would  have  shed  my  blood  in  his  defence ; 
And  now  I  am  an  alien  from  his  house  — 
A  stranger  to  his  heart."     Sorely  he  wept; 
But  what  availed  this  manly  burst  of  grief 
Against  the  evil  influence  that  steel'd 
The  stubborn  mind  of  his  stern  brother,  —  made 

2 


18  SHADES   OF   THE   HAMLET. 

A  hedge-row  broken,  or  a  field  disturbed, 
Weigh  down  the  fb"d  demotion  of  a  life. 

There  is  when  man's  responsibility 
Finds  echo  in  the  soul,  an  hour  at  length 
When  Byron  wish'd  himselt'  a  saint,  and  Paine 
Forgot  his  blasphemy  to  prriy  —  if  vague 
Wild  cries  for  mercy  constitute  a  prayer, — 
In  such  an  hour  the  obdurate  may  relent. 

It  was  an  autumn  day,  —  the  forest  deck*d 
In  colors  manifold  appeared.     The  last 
Sear'd  yellow  leaf  upon  the  willow  tree 
Was  quivering  ere  it  fell.     And  life  was  then 
Departing  from  the  man  who  occupied 
That  cottage  on  the  hill.     Ilis  fever  d  eye 
Unsteady  glar'd  around  ;  —  the  close  small  room 
Was  still,  save  when  the  dying  man  bequeathed 
His  worldly  substance  to  his  nearest  heirs. 
In  such  a  scene,  could  fancy  e'er  conceive 
That  even  one  of  all  the  gentle  sex 
Could  dare  exasperate  the  last  sad  hour 
Of  failing  nature,  by  recalling  wrongs 
Imaginary  against  a  kinsman's  love. 
"  Woman  forbear  ! "     As  thus  I  spoke  these  words, 
The  door  was  opened,  and  that  kinsman  came. 
A  year  had  passed  since  they  had  interchang'd 
One  single  word.     A  little  while  he  stood, 
And  gazed  on  Robert's  face,  —  then  hasten'd  on 
And  cried,  '•  My  brother  !  0,  my  brother !  "     Then 
Their  hands  were  clasp'd,  —  a  stifled  sob  was  heard  — 
A  spasm  cross'd  that  wan  and  woful  face. 


8IIAD£a    C  '    lili:   HAMLET.  19 

A  stranger  now  inhabits  thai  lone  not ; 
The  orphan  children  wander  far  away, — 
And  Michael,  as  each  winter  closes  in, 
Resolves  to  emigrate  when  conies  the  s[)ring. 
The  May -flower  buds  and  blossoms,  blooms  and  dies, 
And  he  postjx)nes  it  till  another  year. 

The  peasant  and  the  prince  are  thus  alike, 
And  he  who  seeks  for  happiness  must  build 
Above  the  world,  and  centre  all  in  heaven. 

THE     widow's     son. 

**  Wasted  and  weary  seems  that  woman's  face, 
Her  form,  attenuated,  scarce  can  hold 
Its  faded  suit  of  black.     Her  wandering  eye 
Is  meek,  yet  wildly  sad.     Wo-struck,  her  voice 
Sounds  like  the  murmuring  of  a  summer's  brook. 
That  faintly  flows,  ere  yet  its  springs  be  dry. 
Does  this  proceed  from  recent  grief,  or  is 
Her  mind  distemper'd  from  some  former  wo  ?  ** 

"  O,  never  darker  fell  the  Ilandet's  Shades, 
Than  when  poor  Ann's  long  cherish'd  hopes  were  wreck'd. 
Her  cheerful  laugh  rang  through  the  wilderness, 
As  bent  her  husband  o'er  his  daily  toil,  — 
Her  little  boy,  sedate  and  quiet,  watch'd 
The  sturdy  arm  that  laid  the  forest  bare, — 
"While  merry  played,  in  miniature  herself, 
Her  tiny  pet,  her  fairy-like  young  girl. 


20  SHADES   OF    THE    IIAMLET. 

And  industry  soon  made  the  desert  bloom. 
Above  a  placid  lake  their  cottage  stood, 
Surrounded  by  its  fields,  enriched  by  dint 
Of  busy  hands,  impelled  by  cheerful  hearts. 
And  when  this  little  home  was  desolate, 
And  she  a  widow,  struggling  with  the  world. 
Her  children  cheered  her  solitary  hours. 
Until  the  boy  became  her  earthly  prop  — 
Almost  an  idol  to  his  mother's  heart. 
Uncheck  d  by  sanguinary  laws  he  roam'd 
The  pathless  woods  ;  and  o'er  his  shoulders  hung 
The  speckled  partridge  or  the  silvery  hare. 
And  when  the  ice  had  on  the  waters  thrown 
Its  brittle  prison  bars,  enticed  by  light 
Admitted  from  above,  the  spotted  trout 
Came  bounding  to  his  hook.     A  freeman  he,  — 
His  charter  written  in  the  clear  blue  sky, 
^  The  verdant  earth,  and  on  a  youthful  heart. 

As  blooms  some  hidden  flower,  unseen  by  man, 
His  sister  grew.     Her  hazel  eye  at  his 
Approach  more  radiant  beam'd,  and  when  his  friend- 
His  only,  well-tried,  youthful  friend  —  would  come 
From  the  far  city  to  his  woodland  haunts, 
At  evening  hour,  her  blushing  face, 
Suffused,  was  bent  in  earnest  survey  of 
The  mimic  wreath  that  her  quick  fingers  traced. 
Amos  was  dear  to  that  fond  sister's  heart. 
But  dearer  far  young  Henry.     She  had  known 
No  other  love  ;  apart,  remote  from  towns. 
He  found  her  guileless  as  the  playful  child,  — • 


SHADES   OF   TIIK    HAMLET.  21 

And  he  had  won  her  by  his  words  of  praise. 

And  now  the  hike,  the  trees,  tlie  starry  skies, 

The  passing  wind — all  spoke  of  Henry;  he, 

When  absent,  still  was  with  her  sj>irit  there  ; 

When  present  —  seen,  and  heard,  and  lov'd  and  bless'd. 

At  length  young  Emma  tohl  her  brother  all 
The  secret  of  her  soul.     On  New  Tear's  Day 
The  sacred  pledge  before  the  altar  given 
Would  bind  his  sister  to  hir  'jnly  friend. 
The  widow'd  mother  smileJ  upon  them  both,  ' 

And  hope  and  joy  their  lonely  threshold  cheer'd. 

And  New  Year's  Eve  has  come,  —  the  widow  trims 
Her  lamp,  and  culls  untimely  flowers  that  came 
From  friends  to  grace  fair  Emma's  hair.     And  she 
Looks  out  upon  the  moonlight  night  and  sighs. 
And  wonders  why  her  brother  stays  so  late  ; 
For  ere  the  dawn  had  lit  the  eastern  sky, 
Henry  and  he  had  bound  their  snow-shoes  on. 
To  track  the  rapid  moose.    And  she  has  watch'd 
The  setting  sun,  and  listened  to  the  sound 
Of  coming  steps,  or  for  the  signal  gun. 
The  moon  is  shining  on  the  snowy  waste  — 
And  still  they  come  not ;  hour  succeeds  to  hour, 
Till  spent  with  watching,  slumber  seals  their  eyes, 
To  wake  to  misery  such  as  seldom  falls 
Even  to  the  wretched  in  this  mournful  world. 

No  marriage  train  approach'd  the  village  church 
That  day.     From  house  to  L juse  the  tidings  flew,  - — 

2# 


22  SHADES   OF   THE    HAMLET. 

Young  Amos  dead,  and  shot  by  Henry's  ha.iJ, — 

^  n  accidental  death,  —  that  crush 'd 

The  hopes  and  hearts  of  three  surviving  friends. 

A  widow  she  —  and  he  her  only  son,  — 

The  mother  bent  her  head — her  mind  was  gone 

And  Henry  wanders  on  from  place  to  place, 

And  wakes  at  night  to  see  the  bleeding  corpse ; 

And  Emma  meekly  kneels  before  her  God 

And  gains  submission  from  Gethsemane. 

Such  is  the  story  of  that  woman's  grief, 
A  broken  heart  and  a  disordered  mind. 


THE  HOLY  COMMUNION. 

"DO    THIS    IN    REMEMBRANCE    OF    ME.' 

Remember  Thee !     Yes,  Lord,  I  will, 

As  I  thy  dying  words  fulfil. 

Remember  thee !     Who  can  forget 

Of  those  before  thy  altar  met,  — 

Thy  brow  encircled  round  with  thorn. 

Thy  body  and  thy  spirit  torn  ; 

The  servant's  cross  —  the  Godhead's  crown, — 

Men  mocking  —  angels  looking  down. 

Remember  thee  !     Frail  heart,  be  still  — 

My  Lord,  my  God,  I  will,  I  will. 

No  holy  pledge,  no  sacred  vow, 

Are  needed.  Lord,  where  thou  art  now ; 

Amid  the  joy  that  reigns  above 

Thy  saints  behold,  adore  and  love  ; 

The  wilderness  and  journey  o'er, 

The  clouds  and  fire  are  seen  no  more,-^ 

But  we  poor  pilgrims,  journeying  here, 

By  symbols  know  that  thou  art  near, 

Saviour  of  souls  !  thou  bread  of  heaven, 
We  praise  thee  that  they  have  been  given  ; 
Our  guard  and  guide,  thou  Prince  of  Peace, 
To  that  bright  world  where  symbols  cease, 


24  THE   STORM. 

To  make  it  ours,  thy  grace  impart, 
A  broken  and  a  contrite  heart, 
That  so,  from  all  our  sins  set  free, 
We  live  and  die  —  reniemb'ring  thee. 


THE  STORM. 


While  the  tempest  stirs  the  lake, 
While  the  rower's  fears  awake, 
While  the  storm  is  raging  high, 
Mingling  water,  earth  and  sky,  — 
He  who  can  from  peril  keep, 
On  a  pillow  lies  asleep. 
Hark  !  the  wild  cry  of  despair 
llises  on  the  midnight  air,  — 
"  Lord,  we  perish  on  the  wave. 
Save  us,  Lord,  thy  servants  save  !  " 
Then  He  speaks,  and  then  he  binds 
All  the  w^in^s  of  a  !1  the  w^inds,  — 
"  ]*eace,  be  still  I  "  and  all  is  still, 
O'er  the  waters,  on  the  hill. 
Not  a  breath,  and  not  a  sound, 
"  A  ffreat  calm  "  is  all  around,  — 
"  Why  so  fearful  ?  "  then  he  saith, 
"  O,  ye  men  of  little  faith." 
Lost  in  w^onder,  they  began 
To  ask  in  dread  "  Can  this  be  man  ?  " 

Sovereign  King  of  winds  and  sea, 
The  universe  belongs  to  Thee  ! 


THE   TEMPLE.  25 


To  US  sinners  it  is  given, 
To  know  thee  as  the  God  of  Heaven. 
Lord  of  all,  from  out  mankind. 
Let  thy  Church  thy  goodness  find, 
Till,  its  troubled  waves  at  rest. 
It  blesses  thee,  by  thee  is  bless'd, 
Hears  thy  voice,  like  healing  balm. 
Diffusing  grace  —  a  heavenly  calm  ; 
Its  contests  and  its  trials  cease. 
The  Saviour  speaks  and  all  is  peace, 


THE  TEMPLE. 

Bright  the  glittering  marble  shone, 
Gilded  by  the  setting  sun 
Brighter  beam'd  the  Jew's  dark  eye, 
At  the  pinnacles  on  high. 
Glowing  with  a  patriot's  pride, 
The  Messiah  by  his  side, 
"  See  those  buildings.  Lord,  behold, 
Stones  of  price  and  shafts  of  gold, 
Badiant  Temple,  God's  o^n  care, 
Grac'd  with  all  that's  rich  and  rare. 

Not  a  stone  shall  soon  be  seen, 
To  mark  the  spot  where  it  has  been  ; 
Where  the  eagles  watch  their  prey, 
Desolation  points  the  way,  — 
When  the  heathen  armies  stand 


2G  THE   RETUllN. 

Around  this  now  devoted  land, 
Then  the  appointed  hour  has  come, 
Call  no  more  this  city  —  home. 

Time  has  pass'd,  and  now  appears 
The  doom  foreseen,  foretold  with  tears. 
Famine,  want,  contention,  dread. 
Around  the  dying  and  the  dead, 
Rome's  proud  eagles  upward  soar, 
And  Judah's  pride  is  seen  no  more. 
The  evening  sun  set  red  with  blood, 
The  last  sad  day  the  Temple  stood,  — 
The  morning's  sun  ariseth  fair, 
Judea's  Temple  is  not  there. 


THE   RETURN. 


Wild  raged  the  night  tempest,  and  bleak  was  the  blast, 
As  the  youth  from  the  home  of  his  childhood  first  passed ; 
And  the  snow  wreaths  were  cast  from  the  wings  of  the  gale, 
And  the  cold  rain  of  winter  was  mingled  with  hail, — 
And  he  smiled  at  the  storm  and  he  said,  "  There  's  for  me 
Hope  to  brighten  the  future,  love  cheering  the  free." 

This  world  was  his  all,  —  and  he  deem'd  the  world  bless'd, 
And  he  sought  for  its  glory,  to  give  him  his  rest ; 
His  proud  heart  was  bca!ing  at  thoughts  of  the  strife, 
As  a  victor  return'd  from  the  battle  of  life  ; 
And  his  fancy  was  busy  to  deck  its  sweet  close 
In  a  day  dream  of  beauty,  and  love  and  repose. 


THE   RETURN.  27 

He  return'd,  and  the  home  of  his  childhood  ho  gain'd, 
For  he  knew  that  the  home  of  his  childhood  reniain'd. 
He  came  in  the  summer,  when  there  stirred  not  a  breeze, 
When  the  sunlight  like  silver  lay  still  on  the  trees, 
When  all  nature  was  hush*d  like  an  infant  asleep,  — 
But  the  storm  was  within  him  —  he  enter'd  to  weep. 

"  My  father,  receive  me  ;  I  come  but  co  die ; 

Beside  my  poor  brother  in  peace  let  me  lie. 

My  father,  the  world  has  been  hard  and  unkind, — 

I  am  weary  of  life  —  I  am  broken  in  mind ; 

There  was  —  but  my  father  I  cannot  go  on, 

My  hopes  are  all  shattered  —  my  spirits  are  gone.'* 

0,  tender  and  long  was  that  parent's  embrace, 
And  full  of  deep  pity  the  gaze  on  his  face ; 
And  he  sooth'd  his  poor  boy,  and  besought  him  to  pray, 
And  go  to  his  Saviour  by  his  own  narrow  way ; 
And  he  spoke  of  earth's  treasures  as  nothing  but  dross 
Compared  with  the  riches  in  Christ  and  His  cross. 
And  he  told  of  the  world  where  the  weary  have  rest  — 
The  heaven  of  love  where  the  humble  are  bless'd ; 
And  the  dew  of  the  spirit  fell  soft  on  the  word. 
And  contrite  he  gave  his  young  heart  to  the  Lord. 

When  the  spring  time  of  life  with  its  passions  had  flown, 
In  the  fulness  of  manhood  he  went  forth  alone,  — 
He  went  forth  alone,  a  meek  witness  of  truth. 
The  compassionate  friend  and  adviser  of  youth. 


28  THE   HOUR   OF   DREAD, 


THE   HOUR  OF   DREAD. 

• 

He  walks  upon  the  stormy  sea, 
The  king  of  earth  and  heaven, 

May  mortal  man  approach  to  thee, 
This  night  and  be  forgiven  ? 

Love  bids  him  come  —  thy  servant  tries, 
To  meet  thee  on  the  wave,  — 

Sees  all  his  dangers,  sinking  cries 
On  thee  his  life  to  save. 

To  him  while  trembling  and  afraid, 

Thy  hand  is  stretched  out, 
Amid  the  storm  thy  voice  hath  said 

**  0,  wherefore  didst  thou  doubt  ?  " 

Lord,  tempest- tost  thy  children  tread 

The  ocean  of  this  life  ; 
They  walk  in  darkness  and  in  dread, 

In  sorrow  and  in  strife. 

The  waters  rise,  the  winds  are  high, 

In  peril  and  in  fear, 
On  thee  we  look,  to  thee  we  cry, 

For  thou,  our  God,  art  near. 

To  thee,  our  Saviour  and  our  King, 
Our  Father  and  our  Gruide, 

Our  trials,  dangers,  griefs  we  bring  — ' 
Be  ever  at  our  side. 


Jacob's  vision.  29 

No  voice  but  thine  can  bid  us  live, 

Sustained  by  thee  we  stand, 
And  in  the  darkest  hour  we  give 

Our  souls  into  thy  hand. 


JACOBUS  VISION. 


A  stone  for  his  pillow,  the  earth  for  his  bed, 
The  patriarch  sleeps,  and  his  slumber  is  sweet, 

A  vision  of  angels  descends  o'er  his  head, 
By  a  ladder  of  glory  that  rests  at  his  feet. 

It  reach'd  unto  heaven,  and  there  stood  above 
Jehovah,  the  Holiest,  Greatest  and  Best, 

The  God  of  his  father,  the  Lord  of  his  love, 

Who  promised  that  he  and  his  seed  should  be  blest. 

The  ladder  still  comes  from  the  regions  of  light, 
For  He  who  upholds  it  is  ever  the  same. 

Its  steps  with  thy  mercies  and  blessings  are  bright, 
Its  top  is  engrav'd  by  thy  Creator's  na^ 

For  sleeping,  or  waking,  at  home  or  abroad, 
His  guardian  angels  still  watch  o'er  thy  ways  ; 

Securely  commit,  then,  thy  life  unto  God  — 
His  children  are  safe  with  the  ancient  of  days. 

a 


30  BEAR   THY   CEOSS. 

THE  DYING  PENITENT. 

Repenting  on  the  cross,  he  felt 
The  love  which  makes  the  sinner  melt, 
And  as  he  saw  the  Saviour  die, 
His  heart  relents  —  one  plaintive  cry  — 

Thou,  Lord,  remember  me. 

His  prayer  is  heard,  the  sinner  blest 
With  present  pardon,  promised  rest ; 
Encouraged  by  his  fate,  I  now 
Before  thy  presence  humbly  bow  — 

0,  Lord,  remember  me. 

When  sorrow  comes,  as  come  it  will, 
When  sickness,  pain,  and  human  ill, 
When  I  resign  this  living  breath. 
And  feel  the  parting  pang  in  death, 

Then,  Lord,  remember  me. 


BEAR  THY  CROSS. 

When  the  tear-drop  fills  thine  eye 
When  recent  is  thy  loss. 

When  the  sun  has  left  thy  sky, 
Then,  Christian,  bear  thy  cross. 

When  thy  Master  lights  the  flame 
To  purge  away  thy  dross. 

When  the  ".vorld  derides  thy  claim, 
Then,  Christian,  bear  thy  cross. 


MOEMNQ   HYMN. 


81 


When  the  waves  of  passion  strive 
Thy  troubled  heart  to  toss, 

When  the  conflict 's  most  alive, 
Then,  Christian,  bear  thj  cross. 


MORNING  HYMN. 

The  light  of  the  morning, 

At  heaven's  command, 
Now  comes  forth  adorning, 

The  water  and  land. 
Awake,  then,  my  spirit. 

Rejoice  in  the  Lord, 
'Tis  thine  to  inherit 

His  work  and  His  word. 

My  God  and  Creator, 

Thy  presence  I  own. 
Thou  Sov'reign  of  Nature, 

I  bow  at  thy  throne ; 
Thou  king  of  all  glory 

I  give  what  I  can, 
I  humbly  adore  thee. 

Redeemer  of  man. 

Thine  eye  cannot  slumber, 
And  therefore  I  rest; 

Thy  gifts  none  can  number. 
And  therefore  I'm  blest. 


32  EVENING   HYMN. 

For  life  and  direction, 
Kenewal  of  days, 

For  care  and  protection, 
Thy  name  I  will  praise. 

My  God,  do  thou  hear  me, 

And  give  me  this  day 
A  spirit  to  fear  thee. 

And  walk  in  thy  way  ; 
A  spirit  forgiven, 

Rejoicing  in  love, 
Whose  light  is  from  heaven, 

Whose  hope  is  above. 


EVENING  HYMN. 

The  evening  closes  round  me. 
The  work  of  day  is  done. 
Away  all  thought  of  care. 
Be  this  the  hour  of  prayer ; 
Go  to  thy  ark  of  rest. 
And  be  thou  blest, 
My  soul. 

Lord  of  the  highest  heaven, 
Thou  only  hope  of  earth, 
My  feeble  praise  I  bring, 
And  of  thy  mercy  sing, 
I  humbly  bend  the  knee. 
Here  unto  thee, 
My  God. 


JERUSALEM.  83 


JERUSALEM. 

Record  of  things  gone  by  it  stands, 

All  desolate  rnd  Icne! 
Is  this  the  highly  favor'd  land 

Jehovah  shone  upon  ? 
Is  this  the  spot  where  Israel  trod, 
Where  stood  the  temple  of  their  God  ? 

Has  Judah's  harp  here  echo'd  round 

Its  never  dying  lays  ? 
Have  prophets  walk'd  this  holy  ground, 

In  other  happier  days  ? 
Have  angels  o'er  thee  spread  their  wings, 
Has  He  been  here  —  the  King  of  Kings  ? 

They  have,  —  but  what  is  now  thy  doom, 

Thou  once  belov'd  of  heaven. 
Thy  glory  buried  in  the  tomb, 

Thy  sons  in  exile  driven, — 
Unlov'd  they  roam  through  every  clime. 
Their  very  name,  a  name  for  crime. 

Yet  Sion !  who  will  weep  for  thee. 
Thou  stern,  hard-hearted  one  ; 

'Tis  righteous,  just,  that  thou  should'st  be 
Thus  utterly  undone,  — 

That  thou  should'st  feel  the  avenging  rod, 

Thou  who  didst  slay  the  Son  of  God. 
3* 


34  CHRISTMAS. 


CnRISTMAS. 

While  strains  of  triumph  float  upon  the  breeze, 

While  Israel's  Shepherd  countless  angels  sees, 

While  Holy  Mary  gazes  on  the  child, 

The  only  Son  of  God,  the  Undefiled, 

The  earth  seems  hallowed  in  the  eyes  of  heaven, 

The  curse  departs  and  sinners  are  forgiven. 

Thou  pure  and  spotless  Being  sent  to  cheer 

Life's  weary  pilgrims  as  they  wander  here. 

Whose  throne,  exalted  all  our  thoughts  above, 

Is  mercy's  seat,  the  very  source  of  love, 

Thy  blessed  name  thy  servants  shall  convey 

Through  many  regions  on  this  holy  day. 

The  slave  shall  hear,  while  lighter  grows  his  chain, 

The  sick  shall  listen,  and  forget  his  pain, 

The  poor  shall  learn  it,  with  a  patient  sigh 

The  dying  breathe  it  ere  he  turn  to  die. 

And  happy  homes,  where  childhood's  artless  mirth 

Half  steals  from  age  the  anxious  cares  of  earth. 

Shall  brighter  glow,  as  in  thy  name  they  give 

To  want  and  wretchedness  the  means  to  live. 

The  willing  exile  in  a  distant  land  — 

On  Greenland's  snow,  or  Afric's  burning  sand  — 

Who  lonely  labors  daily  to  proclaim 

The  riches  hidden  in  thy  sacred  name. 

Stern  to  his  purpose,  but  with  soften'd  mind. 

Shall  muse  this  day  on  those  he  left  behind,  — 

Their  voices  hear,  their  well-loved  faces  see. 

Shall  count  the  cost,  yet  still  adhere  to  thee. 


NEW    YEAR.  35 


To  whom  but  thee,  my  Saviour,  can  we  go, 
Laden  and  weary,  in  this  world  of  wo ; 
Through  every  age  we  hear  the  tidings  still, 
"  To  God  the  glory  and  to  man  good  will." 


NEW  YEAR. 

Little  Child,  on  New  Year's  Day, 
With  thy  gifts  intent  on  play. 
Never  time  shall  seem  to  thee 
Half  so  happy,  half  so  free. 

Youth,  beneath  thy  parent's  home 
Seek  not  wishfully  to  roam  ; 
Can  California  gold  e'er  buy 
Love  beaming  from  a  mother's  eye  ? 

Man,  that  toilest  on  thy  way, 
Pause  to  think  on  New  Year's  Day  ; 
Hoard  thy  wealth,  or  pine  in  wo. 
From  the  earth  thou  soon  must  go. 

Aged  pilgrim,  lingering  here 
Like  the  last  leaf  of  the  year. 
Time  is  speeding  fust  for  thee, 
Hovering  o'er  eternity. 

Mortal  man,  prepare  to  die ! 
Immortal  seek  thy  home  on  high  ! 


86  GOOD    FRIDAY. 

Talcntfl,  beauty,  riches,  birth, 
Live  and  perish  on  the  earth  ; 
Meekness,  grace,  and  holy  love, 
Born  in  heaven,  still  soar  above. 

Choose  to  day  —  to  day  is  thine 
Earthly  gifts  or  gifts  divine ; 
Choose  to-day,  0,  ao  not  wait, 
Another  year  may  be  too  late. 


GOOD  FRIDAY. 


The  strain  be  lowly  like  a  funeral  lay, 
That  chants  the  sorrows  of  this  sacred  day, 
My  hand  would  tremble,  and  my  tongue  be  still, 
Did  He  not  live  who  died  on  Calvary's  hill, 
The  feeble  arm  to  help,  to  guide  the  humble  will. 
The  cross  is  raised  —  our  Lord  is  lifted  up 
To  drink  the  sorrows  of  that  bitter  cup ; 
Derision  mocks  the  sufferings  of  the  hour. 
The  reign  is  darkness,  and  its  prince  has  power. 
No  sun  can  shine,  no  bird  can  raise  its  wing, 
The  pastures  mourn,  there's  gloom  on  every  thing. 
"  My  God  I  my  God !  "  the  Sinless  pray'd  to  thee, 
"0,  why,  my  God,  hast  thou  forsaken  me." 
The  trembling  earth  hath  heard  the  awful  cry. 
While  angels  watch  to  see  their  Sovereign  die. 
Deriding  sinners  smite  their  breast  to  hear. 
All  nature  then  first  felt  the  pang  of  fear. 


EA8TER   HYMN.  37 

*'  *Tis  finished  !  "  all  our  griefs  the  sufferer  bore, 

For  heaven  could  give,  and  earth  receive  no  more. 

King  of  the  world  above,  thy  hand  I  see 

Tinting  the  flowers  that  deck  the  fields  for  mo ; 

And  when  my  eye  surveys  the  worlds  afar, 

I  sec  its  impress  stamp'd  on  every  star. 

By  me  that  hand  upon  the  cross  was  torn. 

For  me  thine  agony  and  death  were  borne, 

My  sins  Ixjfore  thee  in  that  hour  were  spread. 

When  thou  gav'st  up  the  ghost  and  bow'd  thy  hallowed  head. 

Thus  may  the  Christian  in  his  sorrows  sing. 
To  Christ  his  Friend,  his  Saviour,  and  his  King, 
And  meekly  bending  to  the  chastning  rod. 
Find  peace  and  pardon  through  the  Son  of  God. 


EASTER  HYMN. 


Slow  the  Roman  soldiers  tread 

Around  the  mansion  of  the  dead, 

And  the  moon  is  passing  by. 

Untroubled  in  the  azure  sky. 

Men  of  blood  in  peace  have  slept. 

While  holy  men  have  watch 'd  and  wept ; 

For  the  sleeper  in  the  tomb 

Has  met  and  borne  no  common  doom. 

Let  His  children  watch  and  weep, 

His  enemies  securely  sleep.  - 

Yet  his  friends  shall  still  rejoice, 
His  foes  shall  tremble  at  his  voice. 


88  THE   PENITENT   RETURNING. 

Dawn  is  breaking  o^er  the  hill, 

Around  the  grave  —  and  all  is  still. 

Hark  !  the  earth  its  stillness  breaks ; 

See,  see,  it  from  its  centre  (quakes,  — 

For  the  other  world  has  sent 

Its  messenger,  —  the  grave  is  rent. 

Lo !  the  sleeper  now  awakes, 

The  kingdom  of  the  earth  He  takes, 

Never  ends  his  glorious  reign. 

For  death  himself  at  length  is  slain. 

Let  us  triumph  in  our  King, 

To  day  His  victory  we  sing. 

Yet  his  friends  shall  still  rejoice, 
His  foes  shall  triumph  at  his  voice. 


THE  PENITENT  KETURNING. 

In  heaven,  on  earth,  all  glory  be, 
My  Father  and  my  God  to  thee ; 
Weary  and  wandering  like  the  dove, 
0,  lead  me  to  thine  ark  of  love ; 
Erring  and  sinful,  let  me  rest 
My  sorrows  on  my  Saviour's  breast. 

Father,  I  come,  to  thee  I  come, 
Receive  the  mourning  pilgrim  home. 
With  shattered  hopes  and  broken  heart, 
I  only  seek  a  servant's  part ; 
Sullied  with  sin,  do  thou  forgive, 
And  faint  with  hope,  ah,  bid  me  live. 


THE   PILGRIM.  39 


MEMOllY'S   OFFICE  TO  THE  SINFUL. 

"  What  on  thy  soul  engrav'd  by  years 
Kemains  iinpress'd  ?     Go  mark  it  well ! " 

A  record  blotted  with  my  tears, 
So  dark,  defaced,  scarce  can  I  tell. 

"  Readest  thou  there  of  well  spent  time, 
Of  active  worth,  of  fervent  prayer  ?  " 

Nay,  guilty  pleasure,  darker  crime, 
And  traces  deeply  mark'd  of  care. 

"  Where  are  thy  boyhood's  laughing  hours, 

The  riper  joys  of  manhood's  day  ? 
All  wither'd  like  the  autumn  flowers ; 

I  lov'd  them,  and  they  all  decay. 


» 


Then  man  of  sin  and  sorrow,  sent 
In  mercy  from  the  Grod  of  love, 

Thy  memory  calls  thee  to  repent. 
And  find  a  better  life  above. 


THE  PILGRIM. 

I  was  a  traveller  on  a  road 

Far  from  my  Father's  blest  abode, 

While  pleasure  was  my  guide ; 
I  hung  upon  the  charmer's  smile. 
And  journey 'd  on  for  many  a  mile, 

Still  wandering  by  her  side. 


40  THE    PILGRIM. 

A  youthful  multitude  was  there  — 
The  gay,  the  thoughtful,  and  the  fair, — 

With  careless  ease  we  went; 
But  now  and  then  strange  thoughts  would  come, 
A  solemn  message  from  our  home, 

By  God,  our  Father,  sent. 

There  was  a  path,  I  know  not  why 
Thither  I  turn'd  my  tearful  eye, 

Though  cheerless  seem'd  the  road  ; 
A  few  lone  pilgrims,  hand  in  hand. 
Were  travelling  to  a  better  land. 

The  Si  on  of  our  God. 

It  was  my  Father's  house  they  sought, 
For  they  had  "  sold  themselves  for  nought," 

Like  me  they  had  been  slaves  ; 
But  now  from  heaven  our  Father  smil'd, 
And  kiss'd  each  poor  returning  child  — 

For  he  still  seeks  and  saves. 

How  sweet  it  was  then  to  my  heart. 
To  bear  with  them  a  pilgrim's  part. 

And  never  more  to  roam. 
Their  God  is  mine  —  our  hope  's  the  same  — 
We  trust  in  Jesus'  holy  name. 

His  star  shall  guide  us  home. 


REPOSING   ON   GOD.  41 


REPOSING  ON  GOD. 

My  God,  accept  a  sinner's  prayer, 
And  hear  a  sinner's  praise, 

While  I  before  thy  altar  dare, 
My  lowly  voice  to  raise. 

I  own  I  wander'd  from  thy  way, 

Benighted  and  forlorn, 
But  lighten'd  by  the  Gospel's  ray, 

I  found  a  happy  morn. 

My  Father,  thou  didst  see  me  roam. 

And  pitying  my  loss, 
Didst  lead  my  erring  footsteps  home, 

To  bear  them  to  the  cross. 

Then,  Holy  God,  may  all  my  love 
Be  placed  on  Christ  alone, 

And  may  my  hopes  be  rais'd  above. 
To  reach  unto  his  throne. 

Lord  Jesus  come,  my  spirit  keep. 
Bid  all  my  troubles  cease. 

And  as  thy  angels  watch  my  bed, 
May  I  awake  in  peace. 

Or  f,  my  God,  thou  dost  decree, 
That  I  this  ni^ht  must  die. 

My  spirit  pardon 'd  and  set  free 
Do  thou  receive  on  high. 


42  THE   VOW. 


THE  LAST  BAY. 

Ere  sets  the  sun  behifid  the  western  hill, 

A  lovely  bow  of  many  tints  appears ; 
The  sweeten'd  air  is  calm,  refresh'd  and  still, 

And  trees  and  shrubs  gleam  bright  with  dewy  tears. 

Thus,  ere  the  Christian  sinks  within  the  tomb, 

A  holy  halo  lightens  all  around, 
A  heavenly  beam  dispels  our  earthly  gloom, 

The  storm  has  ceased — we  tread  on  hallowed  ground. 

The  tears  we  weep  are  tinted  from  above, 

Faith  blends  with  Hope  a  radiant  light  to  shed, 

And  circled  brightly  by  soft  beams  of  love, 
It  shines  from  heaven — it  rests  upon  the  dead. 


THE  VOW. 

By  Arnon's  blue  stream  Israel's  champion  stood, 

His  hand  was  uplifted,  unspotted  by  blood, 

Fire  kindled  his  soul,  and  wrath  glow'd  on  his  brow. 

While  he  uttered  to  heaven  this  terrible  vow,  — 

"  Let  the  children  of  Amon  succumb  to  my  sword 

And  I  give  as  an  offering  unto  the  Lord, 

From  the  door  of  my  house  whatsoever  shall  come 

To  welcome  the  warrior  back  to  his  home." 


THE    VOW. 


43 


The  victory  won,  he  in  triumph  advances, 

And  his  daughter  first  meets  him  with  timbrels  and  dances ; 

Only  child  of  his  love — only  light  of  his  hearth  — 

His  soother  in  sorrow  —  companion  in  mirth. 

His  hand  rends  his  raiment,  while  grief  rends  his  heart ; 

Must  the  child  and  the  father  thus  bitterly  part ; 

"  My  daughter,"  he  said,  "  I  am  brought  very  low, 

I  am  troubled  to  see  thee,  from  me  thou  must  go, 

For  I've  open'd  my  mouth  thus  unto  the  Lord, 

And  I  cannot  go  back  from  my  once  plighted  word." 

"  Nor  needs  it,  my  father,  the  Lord  is  our  trust, 

The  pride  of  thy  foemen  is  humbled  in  dust ; 

Fulfil  all  thy  vow  —  but  two  months  I  require 

To  mourn  for  myself  and  to  weep  for  my  sire. 

My  companions  shall  meet,  where  the  mountain's  wild  gale 

Reminds  us  of  freedom,  whose  loss  I  bewail." 

Thus  she  gathered  fresh  strength  for  her  trial  of  love, 

Bid  farewell  to  her  home  to  seek  one  above  ; 

And  the  daughters  of  Israel,  each  year  in  their  grief. 

Lamented  his  child,  and  remember'd  their  chief. 


44         THE  WIDOW  AND  THE  FATHERLESS. 


THE  WIDOW  AND  THE  FATHERLESS. 

The  widow  and  the  fatherless. 

Ah,  whither  shall  they  go, 
To  find  relief  in  their  distress, 

A  soother  for  their  wo  ? 

The  widow  and  the  fatherless, 

The  world  is  not  for  you ; 
Its  pity  is  but  cold  and  short, 

Its  promises  untrue. 

The  widow  and  the  fatherless, 

By  the  deserted  hearth, 
Seem  to  the  careless  heart  and  eye 

The  most  bereaved  on  earth. 

The  widow  and  the  fatherless. 
While  mourning  for  the  dead, 

God  watches  every  sigh  you  make, 
And  every  tear  you  shed. 

The  widow  and  the  fatherless, 
Hope  lights  their  lonely  cot. 

The  promises  of  God  have  made 
Their  home  a  blessed  spot. 

The  widow  and  the  fatherless. 

To  you  the  boon  is  given, 
When  gloom  encircles  all  on  earth, 

To  borrow  light  from  heaven. 


THE    POOR.  45 


THE   POOR. 

Now  blessings  on  the  cheerful  poor,  wherever  they  may  be, 
Whether  within  their  humble  homes  or  exiled  o'er  the  sea ; 
O,  happy  be  their  hearth-stone,  and  blessed  be  their  lot, 
And  by  their  wealthy  brethren  may  they  never  be  forgot. 

I  would  not  be  that  rich  man,  who  would  turn  them  from 

the  door, 
I  would  not  be  a  tyrant  to  trample  on  the  poor, 
For  fear  their  wasted  features  might  haunt  my  dying  bed, 
And  the  record  go  to  heaven — "He  gave  us  not  of  bread/* 

The  Flamen  and  the  Brahmin,  with  all  the  pagan  clan. 
May  bless  the  purple  robe  of  state,  the  faded  garment  ban, 
But  the  merciful,  the  merciful,  who  wept  at  human  wo, 
The  merciful  Lord  Jesus  taught  not  his  followers  so. 

Then  seest  thou  the  poor  man  hard  struggling  with  his  fate. 
Stretch  forth  thy  hand  to  help  him  ere  thy  succor  be  too 

late ; 
In  the  mine  and  on  the  ocean,  at  the  forge  and  at  the  loom. 
The  sons  of  labor  toil  to  decorate  thy  room. 

Then  when  their  hands  wax  feeble,  and  their  cheeks  grow 

pale  and  gaunt. 
Speak  gently  and  act  kindly,  and  save  their  age  from  want ; 
And  when  the  poor  are  joyful,  for  the  poorest  have  their 

mirth. 

Let  not  an  angry  frown  cast  a  shadow  on  their  hearth. 

4* 


46  THE   DYING  GUILD. 

Their  lot  is  not  like  thine,  but  their  nature  is  the  same, 
To  justice  and  to  mercy  they  have  a  rightful  claim, 
Then  in  their  sorrows  aid,  and  lend  a  helping  hand, 
And  open  wide  God'js  Temple  to  the  poorest  in  the  land. 


THE  DYING  CHILD. 

Without  was  storm,  and  tempest,  rain, 
And  darkness,  that  dread  night ; 

Within  was  agony  and  pain. 
Beneath  the  flickering  light, 

As  o'er  my  dying  child  I  bent. 

And  saw  her  life  was  nearly  spent. 

She  suffer'd  much  ;  her  little  eye 

Was  meekly  rais'd  above, 
As  if  expecting  from  the  sky 

Some  messenger  of  love. 
To  bear  her  spirit  far  away 
From  this  sad  scene  to  endless  day. 

She  died  —  the  little  suff'rer  slept  — 
While  from  the  curtain'd  bed 

The  mother  rais'd  her  voice  and  wept, 
"  My  child,  my  child  is  dead !" 

I  turned  away  my  face  —  was  still  — 

And  bow'd  unto  my  Father's  will. 


47 


THE   UVING    AND   THE   DYING. 

THE  LIVIXG  AND  THE  DYING. 

When  the  meek  and  gentle  spirit 

Parteth  from  its  clay, 
When  it  goeth  to  inherit 

The  eternal  light  of  day, 
When  the  struggle  is  before  it, 

Ere  it  reach  its  place  above, 
The  Saviour  bendcth  o'er  it 

With  a  beaming  eye  of  love. 

0,  this  earth  hath  then  its  sorrow. 

In  an  hour  like  this, 
For  the  living  have  their  morrow 

When  the  dying  are  in  bliss  ; 
And  the  whirl  of  thought  is  waking 

Deep  anguish  in  the  brain. 
And  the  heart  is  almost  breaking 

With  its  hidden  weight  of  pain. 

Yet  some  gleams  of  light  still  hover, 

When  the  sun  has  left  the  sky, 
And  when  all  on  earth  is  over, 

Hope  is  shining  from  on  high. 
He  hath  met*  and  he  hath  taken 

The  sainted  wife  and  mother. 
Ye  are  mourning,  not  forsaken, 

Live  to  comfort  one  another. 


*"  He  shall  meet  me  in  the  valley,"  were  among  the  dyhig  expressions  of 
tlie  estimable  person  whose  death  these  imperfect  verses  were  intended  to 
commemorate. 


48  PARTINQ    WITU    THE    YOUXOEST. 


PARTING   WITH  THE  YOUXGEST. 

The  sun  shines  bright  on  yonder  hill, 
The  air  is  bulm,  the  winds  are  still, 

Our  children  are  at  play  ; 
Then  why,  confined  within  this  room, 
With  darken'd  blinds  and  silent  gloom, 

We  sit  the  live  long  day. 

O,  ask  us  not !  behold  that  bed. 
Our  little  sufferer  lays  her  head, 

Here  in  our  sight  to  die  ; 
Our  lovely  one,  our  youngest  born. 
From  all  our  fond  affections  torn, — 

And  now  the  hour  is  nigh. 

Yes,  call  the  children,  let  them  place 
Their  lips  upon  that  dying  face, — 

We  give  the  last  fond  kiss  ; 
And  all  that  loveliness  is  clay, 
Yet  ere  we  turn  our  steps  away, 

That  spirit  is  in  bliss. 

O,  Dinny,*  dearest,  sweetest  child, 

I  often  thought  when  thou  hast  smiled, 

I  felt  much  love  for  thee ; 

But  could  my  arms  again  entwine 

That  lovely  form,  and  call  it  mine. 
Much  more  that  love  would  be. 


*  A  term  of  endearment  for  a  young  child  very  suddenly  and  sadly  re- 
moved from  this  world  of  care. 


niSUOI»     IIEDER.  49 

Where  thou  art  now,  the  love  is  pure, — 
Where  thou  art  now,  thy  bliss  is  sure  ; 

An  anii'ol  now. 
Resting  u[)on  thy  Saviour's  breast, 
All  happy,  sinless,  and  at  rest, 

Would  I  were  thou. 


BISHOP  IIEBER. 


Thou  art  gone  to  the  valley  of  death, 
Remote  from  the  home  of  thy  youth, 

But  tears  have  been  shed  o'er  thy  last  lowly  bed. 
Thou  teacher  of  goodness  and  truth. 

Thou  art  gone  to  the  valley  of  death. 
But  thy  spirit  hath  gone  to  its  rest ; 

Thy  troubles  are  done,  and  thy  race  has  been  run, 
And  now  thou  art  safe  with  the  blest. 

Thou  art  gone  to  the  valley  of  death, 

But  the  grave  has  been  robbed  of  its  gloom, 

Hope  shed  forth  her  light,  to  dispel  the  dark  night. 
That  saddens  the  comfortless  tomb. 

Thou  art  gone  to  the  valley  of  death, 

0,  Ileber!  like  thee  may  we  go. 
With  our  sins  all  forgiven,  our  treasure  in  heaven, 

Far,  far  from  this  region  of  wo. 


60  TllOUUUTS    AT    NKiUT. 

THOUGHTS   AT   NIGHT. 

IX     YOUTH. 

]Miiliii«^lit  \s  piLss'tl,  and  throu<^li  the  silent  streets 
Nought  hut  the  Hitting  shadows  now  are  seen, 
Tronihling  beneath  the  moon's  pale  beam.    *Yct  I 
Will  slumber  not  as  other  men.     No,  let 
Me  watch,  here,  as  my  tai)er  dimly  burns, 
And  commune  with  myself.     'Twas  said  erewhlle 
That  at  this  dreary  hour  dead  men  have  left 
Their  cheerless  homes  to  visit  those  that  live ; 
Then  where  is  he  for  whom  my  tears  have  fallen, 
My  father,  friend  ?     A  month  has  pass'd,  a  long 
And  weary  month,  since  I  have  nightly  kept 
My  vigils  here,  'mid  strangers,  mournhig  thee. 
But  no  !     It  may  not  be  !     Not  on  this  earth, 
Not  here  in  this  cold  world,  we  meet  again. 
But  as  I  cast  my  weeping  eyes  above 
To  where  the  pale  moon  walks  in  glory  on, 
I  think  of  thee,  a  blessed  saint  in  heaven, 
llemov'd  from  sorrow,  and  remote  from  wo, 
And  envy  not  the  skeptic's  doubting  creed. 

This  life,  this  weary  journey  to  the  grave, 
How  much  we  prize.     We  travel  daily  on, 
And  when  the  head  is  pillow'd  for  the  night, 
Fondly  anticipate  another  day.     It  comes. 
We  eager  garner  up  our  little  store 
Of  transient  hopes  and  self-deceiving  joys, 
And  call  those  shredded  fragments  happiness. 
And  even  these,  the  sum  of  earthly  bliss. 


THE    PUINtE'8    LODGE.  51 

We  scarce  enjoy,  ere  some  rude  blast  dash  down 
Our  treasure  house,  and  dissi{)ate  our  little  all. 
Then  let  me  build  no  house  for  bliss  below, 
A  baseless  fabric  on  a  windy  shore. 
But  let  me  girij^ myself,  and  culndy  elimb, 
With  patient  steps,  tlic  weary  mount  of  life, 
And  from  its  summit  view,  with  eye  of  faith 
And  heart  of  hope,  the  promis'd  land  of  rest. 


THE  PRINCE'S  LODGE, 

FORMERLY     THE     RESIDENCE     OF     IIIS     ROYAL     HIGHNESS 

THE    DUKE    OF     KENT. 

Silence  and  gloom,  companions  of  decay, 

Still  linger  round  these  haunts  of  honors  fled, 
While  on  these  nioulderiug  walls  departing  day 
Rests  like  a  gleam  of  beauty  o'er  the  dead. 

Through  lonely  walks  now  deeper  grows  the  shade, 
Save  where  the  fire-fly  lights  his  mimic  lamp, 

Or  where,  beside  yon  leafy  colonade, 

A  ruddy  flame  displays  the  rude  made  camp,* 

Ere  not  a  mark  of  other  days  appear. 

Ere  ruin  sweep  each  vestige  from  the  scene, 

I  pause  to  ask, — "  uind  was  it  even  here 

Once  dwelt  the  sire  of  England's  Sov'reign  Queen  ?  " 

*  A  small  party  of  Aborigines  or  poor  Emigrants  were  preparing  their 
evening  meal  under  the  shade  of  the  beautiful  poplars  which  form  the  ave- 
nue to  this  interesting  niiii. 


* 


52  THE    PRINCES    LODGE. 

Where  are  the  festive  lights,  the  garland  flowers, 
The  sweet  wild  music,  melting  on  the  wave, 

Where  are  the  stately  guards,  the  princely  howers, 
The  Hermit's  home^  the  stone  that  mark'd  his  grave  ? 

Did  merry  laughter  ever  here  Rebound,     ^ 
Did  busy  footsteps  haste  along  this  floor, 

Did  mingling  voices  in  this  hall  resound, 

And  hearts  beat  high,  that  now  shall  beat  no  more  ? 

Can  grandeur  pass  away  without  a  trace, 

To  tell  of  present  bliss  or  future  trust  ? 
Then  let  me  linger  near  this  lonely  place, 

And  write  the  record  in  its  kindred  dust. 

Queen  of  the  British  Isles !  I  may  not  see, 
Save  by  the  graver  s  art,  thy  face  divine. 

Nor,  lady,  would'st  thou:  deign  to  hear  from  me, 
The  rustic  strain  that  suits  not  ears  like  thine. 

Yet,  could  thine  eye  behold  this  lovely  spot, 
And  mark  the  desolation  iime  hath  wrought, 

Though  all  exalted  be  thy  royal  lOt, 

A  moral  to  the  heart  would  here  be  taught. 

Fleeting  and  frail  is  all  beneath  the  sky, 
The  reign  of  beauty  and  the  throb  of  joy, 

Mine  be  the  choice,  amid  the  good  and  wise, 
To  seek  the  home  no  change  ■  mn  destroy. 

*  The  hermita«re  and  pravc  stone  wliich  formerly  were  ronspiruons  in  the 
romantic  walks  around  the  Lodge  have  now  as  little  existence  a;s  the  imag- 
inary being  whose  fate  they  were  intended  to  conmiomorate.  The  above 
was  written  about  1834,  and  now,  in  ]851,  the  author  has  to  ^  press  his 
deep  regret  that  the  Lodge  itself  has  followed  the  fate  of  the  herniii.- .  \ 


THE   REIGN   OF   POETEY.  53 


THE  REIGN  OF  POETRY. 

Will  Poetry  e'er  cease  upon  the  earth  ? 
Not  while  the  mother  gazes  on  her  child, 
Her  young  heart  sparkling  through  her  beaming  eyes, 
And  pouring  forth  a  fount  of  love,  unchecked, 
Unmeasur'd,  measureless,  profound.     Not  while 
The  sad  and  gentle  watcher  of  the  night 
Bends  down  her  head  and  scarcely  touches  that 
Pale  cheek,  those  marble  lips,  for  fear  she  may  awake 
The  spirit  trembling  on  the  verge  of  death. 
Not  while  those  blinds  have  closed  out  the  day, 
And  that  still  band  are  gathered  round  the  hearth, 
And  not  a  sound  is  heard,  nor  voice,  nor  sob, 
And  yet  each  heart,  of  all  that  litt!*^  band, 
Is  fiU'd  with  an  untold,  absorbing  grief. 
And  now  one  rises,  seeks  the  upper  room, 
Removes  the  F^'^nder  veil,  and  looks  and  weeps, 
To  bear  the  image  of  that  wan  white  face, 
In  sorrow  back  to  silence  and  to  gloom. 
Not  while  a  birth,  a  sickness,  or  a  death, 
Shall  cause  a  throb  of  joy  or  tear  of  woe, 
Shall  thy  reign  cease,  thou  sweetest  child  of  Heaven. 
The  varying  strains  through  all  the  earth  shall  sound, 
The  sons  of  God  shall  shout,  the  morning  stars  shall  sing 
Not  while  the  sun  emerging  from  the  waves, 
Strikes  one  bright  line  of  light  across  the  sea, 
And  the  white  sails  of  many  sized  ships 
Are  spread  to  catch  the  wind  that  cometh  not. 
And  some  young  hero  mantling  at  the  sight, 

5 


54  THE   KEIGN   OF    POETRY. 

Lifts  up  his  head,  and  thinks  of  Nelson's  life  — 
Not  while  meek  twilight  hovers  on  the  hill, 
And  one  pale  star  shines  out  upon  the  world, 
And  from  the  scatter'd  village  comes  the  sound 
Of  labor  ending  till  another  day  — 
And  some  lone  muser,  murmuring  to  himself, 
Goes  forth  to  dream  of  Milton  poor  and  blind, 
Reaching  in  song  the  very  gates  of  Heaven, 
Not  while  the  morning  or  the  evening  hour 
Invites  mankind  to  meditate  or  act. 

When  heart  doth  echo  back  to  heart  the  pledge 
Of  early  love,  and  bids  the  world  go  by, 
Dreaming  of  hopes  too  bright  to  last 
Where  sin  and  care  stand  sentinels  to  watch 
That  unmixt  joy  shall  never  enter  here. 
How  sweet,  enchantress,  thou  dost  paint  the  scene 
With  rainbow  tints,  as  briliant  and  as  brief; 
And  while  the  eye  lights  up  at  woman's  smile, 
And  virtue  seals  the  vow  that  beauty  won, 
From  age  to  age  shall  flow  the  enraptur'd  strain. 
The  young  shall  sigh  and  the  old  man  shall  smile  — 
But  0,  a  nobler,  purer  theme  is  thine. 
Than  mortal  passions,  mould  them  as  we  may ; 
When  hallowed  fire  touch'd  the  prophet's  lips, 
He  sang  the  Virgin's  son,  Imnianuel, 
When  Heaven's  own  Host  were  spread  on  Bethlehem^ 

plain. 
His  glory  form'd  their  song.     And  now  the  hymn 
Of  childhood,  pure  and  sweet  as  morning  air. 
Breathes  forth  a  Saviour's  name.     Again  it  sounds, 
Ere  yet  the  "silver  chord  "  is  "  broken"  quite. 


THE    DEPARTED.  55 

The  Spirit  singing  while  the  voice  is  weak, 
In  the  dark  valley  making  melody, 
Ere  yet  eternity  shake  hands  with  time. 

And  when  the  organ  pealeth  forth  its  notes, 
"  Young  men  and  maidens,  old  men  and  children," 
Arise  with  one  accord,  and  many  voiced 
Is  the  deep  chant  to  Zion's  Sovereign  King. 
Or  from  the  village  church  a  humbler  strain 
Accompanies  the  verse,  —  the  tune  once  sang 
By  those  who  now  around  that  once  lov'd  dome, 
Sleep  all  unconscious  of  its  harmony  — 
And  yet  remember'd  by  the  loving  well  — 
With  chasten'd  tears  that  Christians  shed  in  hope. 

Such  scenes  shall  last  till  time  shall  be  no  more, 
Nor  Poetry  forsake  this  lower  world 
Till  earth,  and  sea,  and  sun,  and  stars,  are  gone. 


THE  DEPARTED. 


When  the  pale  star  of  evening  bids  farewell  to  the  day 
And  the  spirit  within  us  invites  us  to  pray. 
When  the  stillness  of  twilight  o'er  all  nature  is  spread. 
And  our  thoughts  leave  the  living  to  dwell  with  the  dead, 
I  see  thee  before  me  as  thou  wast  in  pass'd  years. 
And  my  half  utter'd  prayers  are  all  mingled  with  tears ; 
Thy  friends  are  around  thee,  I  see  the  bright  fire. 
And  thy  hand  rests  reposing  on  the  arm  of  thy  sire, 
And  a  sweet  smile  lights  up  thy  beautiful  face, 


56  REV.    DR.    COCHRANE. 

And  thy  form  is  adorn'd  with  its  innocent  grace. 

I  see  thee  again  and  a  youth  by  thy  side, 

And  hear  the  low  whisper  that  makes  thee  his  bride, 

0,  can  I  be  blam'd,  if  in  grief  I  deplore 

The  sad  thought  within  me,  I'll  see  thee  no  more, 

Yet  selfish  would  be  a  sorrow  like  this. 

For  could  I  recall  thee  from  regions  of  bliss, 

To  a  prayer  such  as  this  my  heart  dare  not  give  birth. 

That  an  inmate  of  Heaven  should  dwell  upon  earth. 


IN   REMEMBRANCE   OF   THE 

REV.   DR.   COCHRANE, 

Formerly  Vice-President  of  King's  College,  Windsor, 

Sick  for  my  home,  and  blinded  by  my  tears, 

Myself  distrusting,  fill'd  with  mighty  fears, 

Misnomer*d  man,  but  0,  how  much  a  boy, 

Windsor  enrolPd  another  foe  to  Troy  -^ 

Mellow'd  by  time  that  little  band  I  see. 

Who  numbered  Homer's  numbers  —  to  be  free  — 

In  vain  we  trace  their  future  lot  in  life. 

Some  find  a  tomb,  —  some  triumph  in  the  strife. 

Safe  from  the  contest,  let  me  pay  a  debt 

Of  love,  esteem,  and  ever  new  regret, 

To  him,  the  kind  instructor  of  my  youth. 

To  whom  the  Muse  was  dear — but  dearer  Truth. 

Bland  were  his  manners,  and  his  wit  refin'd, 

A  foe  to  vice,  a  friend  to  all  mankind ; 


REV.    DR.    COCHRANE.  57 

A  father's  kindness  with  a  mentor's  care, 
Melted  the  heart  —  then  stamp'd  his  image  there  — 
Till  from  the  height  of  after  years  the  man 
Half  sighs  to  think  how  first  that  love  began. 

Where  flows  the  Thames  with  all  its  pomp  and  pride, 
And  by  its  banks  proud  London's  living  tide ; 
A  son  of  genius  stops  his  mid-day  dream, 
To  trace  again  the  Avon's  sluggish  stream, 
Half  thinks  he  hears  the  buzz,  "  The  Doctor  comes," 
In  fancy  grasps  again  the  learned  tomes. 
Resumes  his  seat  amid  his  old  compeers. 
And  tells  at  night  the  tale  of  former  years. 

Where  the  St.  Lawrence  calmly  bears  along 
Niagara's  waters,  and  the  Indian's  song, 
A  fever-freighted  ship  her  cargo  lands, 
Of  death  —  of  hopeless  hearts  and  helpless  hands. 
There,  as  like  sheep,  they  die,  the  shepherd  bears 
The  Gospel's  tidings  and  the  church's  prayers, 
Stands  by  his  post,  till  dimness  press  his  eye, 
Then  dying  meekly,  teaches  how  to  die. 
Ere  yet  his  vision  fails  —  he  haply  sees 
The  little  cottage  hid  amidst  the  trees. 
Where  pass'd  the  happy  scenes  of  boyhood's  hours, 
The  Sage  discoursing  of  his  favorite  flowers, 
Or  culling  maxims  from  the  good  and  wise, 
Teaches  the  youth  the  language  of  the  skies. 

Our  early  Guide,  thy  absence  we  deplore, 
Though  thou  art  wafted  to  a  better  shore. 
In  grief  we  bow  above  thy  hallowed  dust. 
Yet  feel  —  How  "  sweet  the  memory  of  the  just."     » 


